


to live past the end of your myth

by smallredboy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Blindness, First Meetings, Gen, Hospitals, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23387668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Molly Graham goes to talk to Reba McClane at the hospital.
Relationships: Molly Graham & Reba McClane
Kudos: 13
Collections: Ladies Bingo 2019





	to live past the end of your myth

**Author's Note:**

> **ladies bingo:** use of symbolism
> 
> i probably have red dragon timeline and details mixed up here and there, but i had fun writing this. molly and reba should be friends.
> 
> enjoy!

Reba's dreams are filled with fire. She can smell the smoke, the flames, the way her body is engulfed by them, the flames licking at her bare skin as Francis lies dead on the ground, having killed himself so he would not have killed anyone else. Amidst the panic, she noticed his skin softer, less rough and wind-chafed. Perhaps he had finally listened to her about skincare.

"Ms. McClane?" A woman she hasn't heard before— voice melodic and fine-tuned, yet weary— speaks to her. She's not one of the nurses that has been taking care of her. "Can I talk to you?"

She turns to where her voice is coming from at an attempt at appeasing her. "Who are you?"

"Molly Graham," she says. "I just thought that maybe someone as affected by this as you are should give you the news."

"Affected by what? The fire?"

Perhaps she's hallucinating, but there's that distinct scent of smoke getting closer to her nostrils as Molly Graham walks closer to her and settles on the corner of her hospital bed.

She draws in a breath. "Francis Dolarhyde did not commit suicide— he killed a man and set his house on fire so you would report him as dead."

Reba's breath catches in her throat and she clings onto the sheets, a soft sob leaving her mouth. Of course… _of course_. She's not sure why she's shocked. She had hoped and wanted the best for and of Francis, always and forever, but of course he didn't give her that. The man she touched the bullet hole from wasn't Francis, it was some random man he had taken to his place. And this would only work out with a blind woman— is that why he picked her out?

"Oh." She blinks her tears away. "How… how are you affected by this?"

"He then went on to attack various FBI vehicles in which Hannibal Lecter was being held in," Molly continues. "Hannibal Lecter and my husband, Will Graham, used one of said vehicles to drive to Hannibal Lecter's coastal house and stayed there for some amount of time before Dolarhyde found it."

Reba swallows. She's not stupid, she knows only one of the two groups— her boyfriend and the nicknamed _murder husbands_ — came out alive. "Who lived?"

"We haven't found trace of my husband and Hannibal Lecter," she says. "We thought they might've fallen onto the ocean somehow. But…" she sighs. "Your boyfriend was killed."

She swallows and grabs at the sheets of her hospital bed. "Okay," she says shakily. "And your husband is a killer."

Molly huffs. "Well, yes. He was jailed for five counts of murder four years before I met him." She pauses. "It was him being framed."

"By Hannibal Lecter, I presume," she deadpans.

"Yes."

"They call them _murder husbands_."

"That they do. But my husband is straight."

Reba tries not to show incredulity, and she hopes she succeeds. She sighs. "Well, I guess we're collateral damage, aren't we?"

"I suppose we are," she says. "Would you like to get some coffee with me, once your recovery is done with? I think Wally would love to meet you."

"Your… son, I assume?"

"Yes."

"I didn't think I'd be hanging out with the wife of the man who killed my boyfriend," Reba says lightly. "But I don't see why not. It'll take a bit, though. I heard my burns were bad."

"Not as bad as Frederick Chilton's."

"Huh?"

"He was being held hostage by Dolarhyde," Molly says. "He set him on fire. It's a miracle he survived."

"Or a curse," Reba suggests.

Molly stays quiet for a few seconds. "Or a curse." She hums. "I think you and I will get along great, Ms. McClane. I wish you a speedy recovery."

"I wish you a good ticket to therapy," Reba says bluntly, leaning her hand up and searching to touch her shoulder. She accepts it. Before she can say anything, she adds, "I just think we could all benefit from some, Mrs. Graham."

Molly smiles at her. "Perhaps we could."

There's fire everywhere in her life. Frederick Chilton got burned by Francis; she got burned by Francis, unable to remain unharmed by his deeds. And now he's dead— he always mentioned wanting his body cremated. Are they going to do that?

The fire comes and goes, but she knows that there's a fire inside Molly Graham. Perhaps anger, perhaps frustration at who her husband really was, deep down, beneath layers of apparent normalcy.

As Molly Graham leaves her room, she takes the smell of burning with her.


End file.
